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“Good,” Coach says. I get the feeling that if we weren’t on ice, he’d be spitting chewing tobacco. “Now listen!”
He instructs us to do some rehearsed shots, and then, after an hour of agonizing repetitiveness, he gives us a break.
I skate directly to where Dan and his dad are. Dan’s father discovered a beer at 11 AM on a weekday while Dan enjoys a can of soda, which makes me crave one the instant I see it.
“Hey, do you have one of those for me?” I point to Dan’s can, and Mr. Mitchell offers me his beer without thinking.
“Just this one, dude, sorry!” Dan says, awkwardly. “But here, you can have the rest.”
I decline, waving them both off, but thanking them with a smile. Mr. Mitchell sips his beer calmly, hides a burp, and then says, “Great moves so far, son.”
“Thank you, Coach Mitchell,” I high-five him, then sit on the bleachers by their side.
“Eh, I haven’t been anyone’s coach in a long time, Andrew. Just call me Dave. We’re all adults now,” he shrugs, as laid back as I remember.
“Alright, Dave.” I say patting him on the shoulder.
Dave points to me and then gestures back to the ice rink. “This could have been you, Dan. You could have been there.”
“I was never as good as Andrew, dad.” Dan says humbly.
“Hey, don’t say that,” I frown. “You carried the game on your back at least a few dozen times.”
“When Andrew wasn’t shining, you shined in his place, son,” Dave says. “You two, in the NHL? Now that would be an unbeatable duo.”
Dan’s forehead is creased. “Dad, you like the store we built together, right?”
Dave widens his eyes and replies, “Of course. Brings in good money and keeps me close to the family.”
“It might of never happened if I had pursued hockey, dad.” Dan’s voice sounds strained, and his face is turned red. “Andrew’s dad was just as good as he is, and he never made it into the NHL. Now think about it: me, spending my time playing the amateur leagues and neglecting college. I wouldn’t have met my fiancé, and I wouldn’t have the business knowledge to make us successful. So chill, we’re doing alright just the way we are.”
Dave takes another sip of beer, looking bored. “Being reasonable sucks.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a fiancé, Dan,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“Carla.” He picks up his phone and hands it to me.
The wallpaper depicts a stunning brunette in a bikini, sipping from a coconut at some sunny beach.
“Congratulations, man. She’s gorgeous,” I say, impressed.
I hand him back the phone and he immediately looks through more pictures, waving me over to look.
“I’m going to find another beer, boys. Be right back.” Dave informs us. I peruse pictures with Dan until I’m hit with a surprise.
“This is Emily’s little girl?” I ask, grabbing his phone and pointing to the smiling kid on the screen.
Her vivid blue eyes sparkle, and she resembles Emily. However, there’s something about her appearance I just can’t put my finger on, but it’s not from the Mitchells I know. Likely from the father.
“She’s so cute,” I say, handing back the phone as a sense of curiosity lingers in the back of my mind.
“And you, man? Any serious girlfriends?” He pokes me in the ribs with his elbow, and I snicker in reply.
“Nah, man. It’s hard to have time for someone serious when you’re always busy playing,” I say.
I look down and fidget with my helmet that’s resting over my knee.
“Have you pictured what it would have been like if you had stayed here, Andrew?”
